


this throne was built with you in mind

by someticket



Series: These Backhanded Vows [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Established Relationship, Festivals, Multi, References to Past Fics, Self-Indulgent, Sickfic, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someticket/pseuds/someticket
Summary: It's nice to paint a huge moustache onto the portrait of Ozai, but Sokka knows the greatest triumph is loving Zuko better than he ever did.
Relationships: Sokka/Suki/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: These Backhanded Vows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696150
Comments: 13
Kudos: 525





	this throne was built with you in mind

**Author's Note:**

> when lines are written *like this* it means sokka is speaking in his native language

Sokka hates the Fire Nation by habit, hates the hot weather and creepy amount of benders and how everyone tells him he has an accent, but he has more freedom of travel than Zuko has, so is willing to sacrifice his personal guidelines to visit him. Even if it means his fingers ghost over long healed injuries when he’s not paying attention.

But the Fire Nation is a different place since he was sixteen and tried to fight it with raw fists, and Zuko’s been working hard to make it somewhere worth living. It shows in the littlest of ways that Sokka only notices out of love, but today the air smells like spice and incense and he can hear a distance drumming over the chatter as people pour into the streets.

“I can’t believe you never invited me to this before,” he cries, swinging his arm over Mai’s shoulders. She gives him a haughty look and steps away.

“It’s only been around for a few years,” Ty Lee chirps. She’s holding some sort of street food on a stick, and is taking full advantage of the way the crowd parts before them to waltz her way down the streets. 

They’re trying in vain to find Zuko- he’s supposed to be giving a speech, but he considers mingling with his people his top priority, ditching everyone in favour of gossiping, or trying to find a new game to announce mandatory at schools. Sokka is pretty sure they’re walking in circles, but he’s happy to take in the sights. Children with face paint dart around with swirling ribbons, and bunting flutters in the early autumn breeze. The sky is painted with thick strokes of coral and gold as the sun dips under the horizon, and every few strides he’s greeted with dancers, determined to heighten the spirits of the Nation as the sun leaves for the winter.

Sokka remembers sitting in a cave ten years ago, Katara frantically pushing chalk from the walls into his skin so he could blend in as Aang announced a dance party for dozens of kids who hadn’t known what dancing was. 

Ty Lee gasps and plucks something from a stall, waving it in Sokka’s face. “Try this! You’ll love it.”

Sokka glances back at the confused lady behind the table. “Shouldn’t we. Uh. Pay for that?”

Mai snorts, then covers her mouth. “No, Sokka. Think of it as an investment.”

Sokka purses his lips, then opens his mouth to argue. Ty Lee takes the opportunity to stick the food into his mouth.

Sokka rolls his eyes and obliges her. She’s right- it’s good, sweet and soft and juicy. And-

“*Son of a bitch*,” he gags. “Why is it so spicy?”

Ty Lee giggles, and Mai cracks a smile. “It’s not. Your people just refuse to season food with anything other than salt.”

“Salt keeps food from rotting,” Sokka gasps, spitting the remains into the dusty path. He wipes his arm over his forehead. “What was that?”

“Spiced mango,” Ty Lee says, dragging her hand over her scalp sheepishly.

Sokka glares at her. “It has spiced in the name! Why would you do that.”

Mai elbows him. “Be quiet. People are staring.”

“People are always staring,” Sokka mutters. “You’re married to the Fire Lord, I’m Water Tribe, and Ty Lee is scary beautiful.”

Neither woman deign that with a response, but Sokka’s pretty sure Ty Lee is holding back a smile as she starts pushing through the crowds with renewed vigour. 

They find Zuko right below his podium, chatting to a young woman who tells Sokka she wants to be the youngest person voted onto Zuko’s council. She also asks where he got his face paint, and Sokka explains that they’re Tribal tattoos for chiefs, and she’s the first person at the festival who seems to care. By the time he’s finished talking Zuko is being called up for his speech, and Sokka fakes pouting and whining but Zuko can’t even pretend he loves anything more that his Nation, so he just leaves.

“My people!” Zuko cries, standing in a day of sunshine that glints off his headpiece. Sokka squints up at him.

“Welcome to this year’s Festival of the Fading Sun! The winter months are coming, and the sun cannot strengthen us, and so we must find that strength within ourselves. We use this time to remember the heritage stolen not only from us, but from all other nations.” His eyes rest on Sokka’s, then move on again. “Remember that we were gifted fire not for destruction but for warmth and protection. Remember that we must accept the mistakes we have made and learn to rise above them. Above all, remember that even the damned deserve to dance.”

Zuko steps back and rises his hands to the sun, then dips into a bow. There’s a second of eerie silence before the clapping falls over them like thunder, and as soon as it ceases music picks up, complicated and fast.

Everyone in the square pairs off and starts dancing, swirling around one another without crashing. Sokka can hear clicks and whistles in time with the beat, and realises immediately that he’s probably the only one who doesn’t know the dance. He elbows his way to the edge of the square, content to just watch the dizzying mess of reds and oranges and gold, when a hand curls over his elbow.

“How was my speech?” Zuko asks, smiling, and Sokka pulls him in for a hug.

“Hey. Careful.” Zuko reminds him, making no effort to pull away.

Sokka drops him and grins widely. “What, can’t a guy hug his best friend, *my love*?”

Zuko flushes, points a finger at him. “I’ve heard you call Suki that one before. It’s not a friend word.”

Sokka shakes his head, still smiling, and links his elbow with Zuko’s, pulling him into the dancers. Zuko struggles feebly, but Sokka knows he could free himself if he really wanted to, and so stands opposite him as soon as they find free space and asks to be taught the dance.

Zuko’s a terrible teacher, and Sokka’s a worse dancer, but he loves the sound of their feet striking the earth in harmony, loves the music that is nothing like his own but still invokes the urge to dance. Zuko laughs like he’s forgotten that he’s the Fire Lord, and Sokka brushes his hair off his shoulders to lock his wrists behind his neck as the sun sets.

“I haven’t danced with you since the wedding,” he murmurs, and Zuko’s eyes soften.

“Say the word,” he breathes into his ear as a half-step pulls them closer, “and I will dance with you every day we’re together.”

The song changes and Zuko flicks his wrist and sends Sokka spinning away, and he dances with skin that matches his and with the white that chalk could never quite replicate, dances with people so young they don’t remember the war and dances with people who killed in it. He dances until his lungs burn and his feet ache and he meets Zuko again in the middle and where their hands touch is rough and warm and they don’t care who sees.

~~~~~

Sokka wakes at noon, perfectly acceptable considering the festival continued late into the night, and takes a moment to stare at the empty space beside him. Unlike Kyoshi Island and his own home, it’s too risky for them to share a bedroom lest a member of staff find them together, but the palaces large beds get cold with no one to share them with.

He walks the hallways with steps that echo down the wooden corridors, making his presence known as a spirit would on holy land. A trail of portraits line the right wall, dozens of Fire Lords with reoccurring severe eyebrows, and Sokka wants them all to know that a Water Tribe man has made a claim not only to the palace but the people inside it.

He forgoes breakfast in favour of making his way down to the Royal Lounge. Breakfast could be served for him at whichever dining area is closest, but something about asking other people to prepare food for him strikes a chord. Besides, he reasons as he pushes the doors open, there’s usually snacks lying around in the lounge.

“Morning,” he crows, bowing as he steps inside. “Huh. Where is everyone?”

The room is unrecognisable empty. Sokka checks under the tables and behind the doors for someone to appear and announce it all as a huge joke, and when that fails double checks that he’s in the right room. The lack of artfully arranged bite size foods and tired aristocrats sprawled over the furniture is uncomfortable, and casts an unearthly stillness that makes him shiver.

Sokka backpedals. “Sun position means it’s past noon,” he mutters, mostly to fill the suddenly stark silence. “Firebenders wake at dawn. I have seen zero members of staff. The Royal Lounge is completely empty. I’m talking to myself.”

He huffs in exasperation and comes to a standstill. There’s a growing sense of unease in his chest that reminds him of waking up alone and terrified during the week Aang’s nightmares had surfaced. He bites his lip, weighing his options, and starts running towards Zuko’s bedroom.

He knocks twice, then pushes it open hesitantly. “Zuko? Buddy? Any reason you’re sleeping in?”

There’s a long groan from the bed. “Don’t call me buddy. I’m not your buddy.”

Sokka sighs in relief, glancing around the room before bounding over. Zuko’s furrowed under several layers with one of his legs sticking out. He’s paler than usual, and his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. Sokka perches on the edge of the bed and gently brushes Zuko’s hair out of his face.

“Of course, love.” he murmurs. “You have a fever.”

Zuko’s face twists, and he makes an endearing disgruntled noise before burrowing deeper into the sheets. “Winter flu,” he mumbles, sounding put out.

Sokka reaches for the bowl of dried apricots on the nightstand, fishing out the stone with his thumb and pressing the soft flesh behind his teeth. “Alright,” he says slowly. “That’s why the palace is empty.”

“What?!” Zuko croaks, attempting to sit up. He's shaking slightly, and Sokka places a hand on his shoulders and lowers him down. “The maids were here this morning, they said I was the only one sick!”

Sokka runs his tongue over his teeth. “It’s probably fine,” he lies. “I came here without checking.” He drops a wink. “I missed you.”

Zuko flushes, colour rising high on his cheeks. “We saw each other yesterday.”

Sokka kisses his forehead, smiling, then reaches for another apricot. “I know.”

Zuko retreats his neck into his shoulders, disgruntled, then visibly jumped as there’s a loud commotion outside. Sokka turns and cranes his neck to look out the window.

“Dragonfly-swans,” he comments. “They just landed in the lake.”

Zuko burrows under the covers until there’s just a streak of black against the feather down pillows.

“I hate them,” he complains, muffled. “They scare the turtle ducks. Make them leave.”

Sokka bites back a laugh and resumes watching them- there’s so many creatures that wouldn’t survive at the Poles, abd he used to keep track of them in a leather bound journal until he realised that there’s so much more to the world than he ever thought. He’ll never be able to describe how the light catches on their wings and stains the water pink-purple-green.

Zuko coughs pitifully. Sokka pulls the sheets away from his face to offer fresh air.

“Katara says we’re immune to Winter Flu,” he says. “You guys get it from lack of sun, but only the Fire Nation reacts to it.”

“The sun makes me stronger,” Zuko insists, but the conviction behind his words is lost to the thick, phlegmy tone. He coughs again, screwed shut and shaking.

Sokka purses his lips. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

~~~~~

He’s almost reached the brewery when he hears nervous chatter, the kind that sinks below the skin and leaves an itch. Sokka rocks back on his heels and cranes his neck before spotting a door, slightly ajar and with a large plaque with strange symbols overhead.

The chatter delves into an argument, and Sokka’s eldest child instinct kicks in.

“Hey there,” he calls, flattening his vowels as he steps into the room. Several faces turn to his, all shocked.

Sokka tilts his head. “No need to look so surprised, I'm practically an honorary member of the family here.” He frowns, rubs his chin. “I’m here way too often for someone who has their own land to run, actually.”

There’s a delicate cough. He ignores it, taking a seat at the table. The whole room smells like old wood polish, and he can feel it hanging in the roof of his mouth.

“Carry on. Don’t worry, I’m not sick.” He pauses and rubs his chin. “If this is classified information I guess I can leave, but I don’t think the Fire Nation should be keeping secrets. No offence.”

Several conversations seem to take place simultaneously, all nonverbal. Sokka crosses his knees and waits, dropping his head into his palm. The council is considerably younger than it was when Zuko first took the throne, mostly because he fired the majority for spreading rumours about Mai. There’s distant plans for elections and commoners taking a place at the table, and Sokka is debating letting his people choose the Chief's second-in-command.

A stern faced woman turns to him. “Very well. You can stay.”

The council begin to speak, reminding him of the rehearsed dancing from the festival. Whatever everyone was arguing about, it’s clearly been thrown under the bridge. 

“Lots of empty cushions,” Sokka points out. “All the firebenders sick?”

The same woman as before responds after a poignant pause. “Anyone with Fire Nation blood has a chance of falling ill at this time.”

“Cool,” Sokka says. “Is that why you’re panicking? Both Zuko and Mai are sick?”

The council stare at him, and he stretches out his arms. “What? I’m not just a pretty face.”

Between blinks, there’s a rush of fire surrounding him. He yelps and curls in on himself, bending away and forcing his hands away from covering his old burn scars in favour of his face.

Within seconds, he realises there’s no heat. Cranking open an eye, green fire spits and cackles and flickers around him, not leaving any marks on the flammable furniture. Sokka pulls in a shaky inhale, remembering a sleepless Zuko rambling about different colour variations achieving different effects. He stays stock still and waits for it to drop, confident that the council don’t mean harm but unwilling to touch.

As soon as it falls, he can see the council sitting, poised, and can see the flick of the wrist of a man to the left.

“Loud, isn’t it,” he comments airily. “Green fire is mostly decoration, but it has its uses. Thank you for your patience.”

Sokka grits his teeth. “𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 do that to me again.”

His fingers curl against the blunt edge of the table, cool despite the dancing fire only seconds ago.

The council don matching wide eyes and uneasy expressions, and Sokka thinks of the raised skin over his legs where he ran over an airship of burning gas, fingernails that haven’t grown back as he gripping metal melting through his hands, the smell of singed hair and how a group of children cheered that they dodged instead of wailed that they were even targets.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me the problem.”

The first woman- Sabran, he thinks her name is- glances at her colleagues, concerned, before answering.

“The Winter Flu hit hard this year, Chief Sokka, and this is only the first day. We can survive a few days with a smaller work force, but.” She exhales, long and loud. “Many inland villages can’t.”

She nods her head, and a man sitting close to the end of the table pushes a scroll. It runs until it lies flat, revealing a large map of the Fire Nation. Sabran points at a few inland places, tiny names on the map dotted over the desert.

“They have no water sources,” she explains, voice tight. There’s a note in it that Sokka can pick out as compassion. “We can’t afford sickness when they have to have all hands on deck just to survive.”

Sokka narrows his eyes, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. His tattooed are flat and invisible to his touch, but the mark of the Chief on his skin clears his vision.

“And they won’t be rehoused, I’m presuming, because otherwise you’d have already done it.”

Sabran nods, eyebrows high. “Yes. We rehoused many villages, but a few refuse. Um. The rural areas don’t really trust the authority.”

“Makes sense,” Sokka muses. “They were probably exploited for both resources and people without reaping the benefits.”

Sabran's eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “I- yes. I suppose.”

Sokka hums, eyes roaming the map to find rivers and lakes. “And have you tried giving them a water source.”

“Enough,” someone cries, slamming his hand down on the table. His moustache twitches as he sneers, face reddening in bottled up anger. “We cannot give them a water source, we are not 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴.” He spits out the word like he doesn’t want it to be in his mouth longer than possible. “You aren’t in charge here! Just because you follow Lord Zuko around like a lost puppy doesn’t mean you get to lead the Fire Nation when he’s ill!”

Sokka crosses his arms and waits until he’s done speaking. A silence settles over the room, and he taps his fingers against his wrist until it gets uncomfortable.

“Get out,” he says calmly.

The man gapes. “You cannot speak to me like that!”

“I’m not wasting time explaining why I do have a right to be here,” Sokka continues, voice steady. “And I 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦 to interrupt Zuko’s rest to have him explain the same thing. So if you don’t understand to a point of thinking insulting me is a bigger priority than finding a solution for your people’s drought, get 𝘰𝘶𝘵.”

Slowly, the man stands, looking for support. There’s sweat under his arms, staining the red robes brown. Sokka stares him down.

The man leaves alone. Sokka smiles at the council and shrugs, apologizing for the dramatics, before bending back over the map.

“Chief,” starts a woman. Her accent is thick, but he can’t place it. “If you don’t mind, how do you suggest making a water source?”

He snaps back into action, pulling the council into discussion as they begin to bucket among themselves the best course of action. Sokka points out that they don’t need multiple sources, just one that needs a pipeline to move the water to different villages, and the praise of the Fire Nation's rulers sits well on his shoulders.

His steps are softer as he walks back to Zuko’s room, carefully balancing three cups of tea in his hands without burning himself. The portraits look just as disapproving, but he doesn’t care to rub it in that he’s caring for his loved ones- it’s too gentle an act to be used as a strike against them. Iroh showed him how to make tea, how to clean the leaves and what temperature is best to add each flavour, and Sokka tried again and again until he could make everyone’s favourite perfectly.

He pushes open the door with his foot. “Hey, Jerkface! Sorry the tea took so long, I got side-tracked fighting this guy with a moustache. *I challenged him to a duel, made him cry* and all that.”

He strolls over to the bed as he speaks, crouching into Zuko’s eye level.

Zuko blinks. “I don’t understand that.”

He rethinks. “Wait, moustache? Quin Lei Sr?”

Sokka places the cups on the floor to pull off an animated shrug, then takes Zuko’s tea back into his hand to offer it. Zuko smiles warmly and sits up, Sokka snaking his hand behind his back to help him adjust.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, wrapping his long fingers around the porcelain to soak in the warmth. He stares into the drink, swirling it around, and when he speaks his voice is quiet and clear. “Sokka, I. Stay? Please.”

Sokka reaches out to cup his cheek, and Zuko’s eyes flutter shut. His skin is shiny where skin meets scar, and his sickly complexion makes the contrast of the pink even more jarring, but Sokka’s eyes are always drawn to how his hair falls over his forehead, how his collarbones jut out below his neck, how his mouth never fully closes and short breathes curl over Sokka’s hands.

“If I had it my way I’d never leave you,” Sokka admits shakily. Zuko opens his eyes and smiles shyly, surprised by love each time he experiences it.

Zuko takes a drink, making an appreciative noise. Sokka feels his face heat and laughs, just forceful enough for Zuko to notice.

“Anyway,” Sokka blurts out. “I was working with your council to find ways to bring water to the inland villages.” 

He pauses, twisting his fingers over themselves. There’s a thick layer of dirt under his nails. “I was thinking pipes? Benders could heat the water, and steam would rise and cool into different channels that brings the water to the villages. Toph and her metalbenders could build them, but I didn’t say that to your council, I don’t think they like the idea of us still being friends.”

He cuts his eyes to the side, forces his hands apart. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Zuko leans forward and grabs his hand, brushing his thumb over the swirling blue lines. His skin his still hot to the touch, his eyes still cloudy. “You keep finding new ways to save me,” he breathes.

~~~~~

Suki,

Do you remember when we visited the Lights Festival at the Northern Tribe last year? I swore I’d never forget how your face lit up when the Spirits came out. That’s what we won the war for, I think. The everyday miracles, the littlest wonders.

There was a festival in the Fire Nation yesterday. I arrived in the morning- travelling to the Fire Nation without you was terrible. I kept turning over my shoulder to joke about the good old days, but I don’t think the natives appreciated the jokes as much as we would have.

It’s called the Festival of the Fading Sun. I’d never heard of it before, but apparently Zuko brought it in a few years ago. It’s strange, because every traditional festival at home is so old, so ingrained into our bones, so used. I've never seen people dance so robotically, like they had learned all the steps by heart. I’ve never seen laughter bubbling out of children like they’ve been holding it inside their chests all their lives.

Anyway, I’m extending my stay. Most of the palace is sick- summer is over, and the lack of sun effects their immune system, but I’m immune. Zuko’s been bedridden all day, and I’ve been looking after him and helping the council with a few problems. I think a council of leaders would be beneficial, both for peacekeeping and a new perspective on problems, but that’s an ideas for another day.

Visit us, if you have time. Zuko always says seeing you is the opposite of the feeling he gets when the sun sets, and we both agreed that sounds way more convincing than “we miss you.”

We do miss you, though. Like lungs miss the air when they’re underwater- desperate and needy and ready to burst. And unable to say it aloud, although that’s mostly because we’re never in the same nation.

There was a song at the festival that reminded me of you. I’ll sing it for you when I see you again.

I stuck a dragonfly-swan feather to the back of the parchment, and drew you a picture too. I think I’m really improving! Zuko said he could tell you two apart this time.

As for this week’s Southern Water Tribe lesson- there’s a forest right on the South Pole that’s completely covered in ice. Nobody knows how, because the trees look to have been there first, and it’s impossible to reach the middle.

See you soon, *my love*,  
Sokka (&Zuko)

**Author's Note:**

> just want to reiterate that sokka is not cheating, they are all in a happy poly relationship


End file.
